After spending nearly twenty four years abroad, I recently returned to Kashmir, carrying with me great emotions of social and spiritual reunion. I am not a teen or young anymore, so my idea of belonging to my land and how I see it is different when I was younger. Long separation has made me love this place more than ever.
I always knew emotional reunions can be tricky. I was prepared for distant relatives suddenly appearing from nowhere and asking, “What made you come back?”, “ultimately everyone wants to come back” and much more. I was even mentally prepared for the chaos and the traffic we live in now.
What I was completely unprepared for was the staring by every second person, where I walk by or drive.
The first week, I decided to go for a walk. Big mistake.
Within ten minutes, I felt like I had accidentally become the chief guest at my own public reception. It literally felt like moving through a never-ending CT scan.
A gentleman walking towards me looked at me with such concentration that I almost felt compelled to introduce myself. I said Salam walaikum feeling we knew each other. He passed by wearing a grim face.
Passing drivers, both men and women, looked so intently that I silently prayed they would also occasionally look at the road.
Aunties, like me, looked at me, looked away, and then performed what can only be described as a quality-control reinspection.
At one point, I genuinely checked my clothes to make sure I had not unknowingly hanging something on my clothes.
Nothing was wrong.
I had simply forgotten one important fact: in Kashmir, people do not merely look at people. They study them.
Elsewhere outside South Asia, people generally master the art of polite indifference. You can walk for hours and nobody pays much attention to you. Personal space is treated almost like a sacred constitutional right.
In Kashmir, however, public space is a wonderfully social affair. Every face is a potential relative.
Every stranger could be someone’s daughter, cousin, former classmate, neighbour, or school friend.
A person looking at you may genuinely be wondering: “Isn’t she Ghulam Nabi Sahib’s daughter?”
“Didn’t she live in Rajbagh?”
“Has she come back from abroad?”
“Where have I seen her before?”
To be fair, this habit probably comes from the very things that make Kashmir special.
We are a close-knit society. We know each other’s families, histories and stories. Unlike large anonymous cities, social connections here still matter.
There is also our legendary Kashmiri curiosity.
As a people, we possess investigative abilities that could easily rival international intelligence agencies.
Who returned from Dubai?
Who bought a new car?
Who renovated their house?
Who is taking an evening walk after twenty years?
Nothing escapes us.
And perhaps decades of political uncertainty and conflict have also made people naturally more observant of their surroundings.
So yes, I understand the reasons.
But dear Kashmir, understanding it does not make it any less uncomfortable.
Because prolonged staring can make people feel self-conscious, especially women, visitors, tourists and members of the Kashmiri diaspora returning after years abroad.
A long gaze may seem harmless to the person doing it, but to the person receiving it, it can feel intrusive and unsettling.
A public road should not feel like an examination hall.
A morning walk should not resemble an audition.
And nobody should feel compelled to wonder every five minutes: “Is there something on my face?”
The irony is that Kashmiris are among the warmest and most hospitable people in the world.
We genuinely want people to feel welcome here.
Perhaps that hospitality can now evolve a little further.
By all means, glance, smile and say hello.
If you recognise someone, ask politely.
But once your curiosity has been satisfied, let the poor person continue their walk.
Trust me, the mountains are beautiful enough. You do not need to stare at me as if I am another tourist attraction.
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